Nick sat in his bedroom. The curtains drawn, the door shut. It was dark. He was alone. He sat tight in the corner, his knees pulled up, one arm wrapped around them, his head leaning on his knees. The other arm was at his side. The gun he picked up from the counter where Sara had left it, held in his hand.

He doesn't know how long he has been there. It was late. Work had called looking for him. That had been the only time he moved. He had practically jumped at the phone, hoping it was Sara. It wasn't. "Hi Nick, this is Carly from the PD. Mr Grissom asked me to call to see if you were coming in. Your shift started over 30 minutes ago."

His heart sunk. It wasn't Sara. He knew it wouldn't be. Why should it be. "No, I won't be in tonight."

"OK, I will pass on the message. Take care Nick, you sound like shit." A soft click and then the sound of a dead line.

He had crawled back to his corner again. Fresh tears springing from his eyes.

He still can't believe what he did. Who he did it to. Sara. He didn't love her. He knew that. He knew he couldn't love anyone. That had been torn away from him. The ability to love. Only strong men can love. Weak men can't love as they will just get their heart broken when the women leave. Sara left. She found out the truth. She all but said it to his face. He was weak. 'Your not superman. If you feel like crying, cry.'

Once again he lifted the gun to his head. Just pull the trigger and it will be over.

He was even too weak to do that.